


The blessing of darkness

by megyal



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Bonding, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-30
Updated: 2007-03-30
Packaged: 2017-10-27 05:20:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>16-Candles-'verse. Title taken from a ficlet/poem that <span><a href="http://koenma.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://koenma.livejournal.com/"><b>koenma</b></a></span> wrote for me in a comment to one of my fics:</p><p><i><br/>Revenge is your afterlife, cursed with the moon and its blessing of darkness.<br/>Pale skin gleams in the moonlight from afar as you sit on your coffin in a warehouse encompassed by windows.<br/>He works fervently – as he always does ever since your turning – trying to find a way to quench your thirst for blood.<br/>As the days pass, he becomes paler and thinner. He eats very little, engrossed in his books and concoctions that smell vile.<br/>On some nights your only wish is that he sleeps peacefully for once, but you are selfish and desperate for a cure because…<br/>Every night when you wake, you crave his pale flesh beneath your fangs, his pulse beating steadily and alive.</i></p>
    </blockquote>





	The blessing of darkness

**Author's Note:**

> 16-Candles-'verse. Title taken from a ficlet/poem that [](http://koenma.livejournal.com/profile)[**koenma**](http://koenma.livejournal.com/) wrote for me in a comment to one of my fics:
> 
>  _  
> Revenge is your afterlife, cursed with the moon and its blessing of darkness.  
>  Pale skin gleams in the moonlight from afar as you sit on your coffin in a warehouse encompassed by windows.  
> He works fervently – as he always does ever since your turning – trying to find a way to quench your thirst for blood.  
> As the days pass, he becomes paler and thinner. He eats very little, engrossed in his books and concoctions that smell vile.  
> On some nights your only wish is that he sleeps peacefully for once, but you are selfish and desperate for a cure because…  
> Every night when you wake, you crave his pale flesh beneath your fangs, his pulse beating steadily and alive._

"Seriously," Pete said, glaring at Patrick, the strobe lights running red and blue fingers over his pale skin. His lashes were darkly shocking against the white expanse. "We've been out for...for _six_ hours. The sun will rise soon and I'm feeling really _really_ thirsty and all these warm-bodies around me? _Not_ helping."

"Chill," Patrick murmured, trying to dodge the flailing arms of dancers who came too close to the bar. "Just, Pete. Chill the fuck out."

Pete gave a large grin, his long incisors flashing and he took Patrick's hand in his own to rub the back of it against his cheek. Patrick's eyes swerved from where they were carefully scanning the crowd and fixed on his in surprise.

"Chill?" Pete purred. "I'm a bloodsucker. Don't get any chillier than that."

Patrick appeared to be transfixed for only a moment and then he visibly shook himself. He pulled his hand away, staring, before he made a weak chuckle. Pete was about to say something, opening his mouth with a cocky smile. Suddenly he snapped it shut again and blinked at Patrick.

"Pete?" Patrick said in concern. "Wait, what's the matter? Is it Beckett?"

"Shut up," Pete growled and turned to a slim man slinking up to their position. "Back off," he hissed, making a threatening step. The man lurched back, but not quite in shock. "Back off, he belongs to me."

Patrick looked between the both of them confusedly, from Pete's face, which was a picture of pale rage, to the other man, whose expression was melting from initial surprise to a faint smirk. _Another_ vampire, Patrick realized belatedly and was profoundly glad when Pete stepped in front of him. At least it hadn't been Beckett or any other Dandy.

"He doesn't have your mark on him," this other vampire said in a smooth voice, too low for Patrick to hear and Pete literally bristled. "He's not a part of your _cruorem_. So he's fair game."

"The _fuck_ he is," Pete spat. "He's mine. Come near us again and I'll tear your head off."

Without warning, Pete put his hand right in the middle of the vampire's chest and shoved violently. The vampire went hurtling back, knocking over quite a few dancers along the way, until he smacked into the wall shoulder-first and slid down it almost comically. Patrick was aghast.

"Pete, what the fuck? We're in the middle of a bunch of _humans_ , why the hell did you do that?"

Pete whirled and grabbed him by the upper arm, ignoring Patrick's muttering and the stares as people picked themselves up off the floor and staggered around. He dragged Patrick out the door and to the parking lot, practically flinging him into the driver-side of the black Dodge, then jumped over the car and slammed the door as he sat in the passenger side. He folded his arms across the chest and stared ahead.

His fangs were _aching_ to slide out, the demon in him incensed by what the other vampire had said. Patrick _did_ belong to his...pack or clan or whatever it was that vampires called it. He was only a fledgling; he didn't even _know_ that you could mark what was yours. He could feel Patrick staring at the side of his head and he tried to calm himself down. There was a strong smell of anxiety wavering off him, but not all-out fear; Pete was a little glad for that.

"Okay," Patrick said slowly, finding the key in his jacket-pocket and starting the car. "I'm...I'm just going to drive home. Right now. Thanks for not letting him bite me."

Pete huffed and turned his head, now glaring out the window.

"He didn't just want to _bite_ you." Pete felt like going back and following through his threat. "I could smell him _wanting_ you."

" _What_?!" Patrick jammed on the brakes a little too hard at the exit of the club parking, turning wide eyes to Pete. "Okay, what did you say? Because I'm sure you said something about wanting me. _Me_. You must have made some sort of mistake, Pete, cause. Yeah, no, that's not--"

"I'm not asking you, I'm _telling_ you." Pete said impatiently. "Lust has a very particular odour."

He wasn't looking at Patrick, but he could still _smell_ him and underneath the concern, there rose a layer of disbelief...and curiosity. He shot a quick glance at Patrick, but he had already turned his attention to the road, taking them home.

*

"So," Andy said, whirling that shining blade with absent skill. "We need to bind ourselves to him?"

Patrick watched him enviously from his long work-table. Andy and Pete had the talent of talking and whirling sharp pointy objects at the same time and he wished he had the co-ordination to do that. The last time he had tried, he had nearly taken the Jewfro off and Joe had been skittish around him for days after.

"Yeah." Patrick rested his chin in his hands and gave Andy a small smile. "This book says that there are different ways, like a family-bind, or a thrall-bind. I guess we can do the family one to keep other vampires from trying to claim us."

"So they'll just stick to trying to suck us dry," Joe said loudly from the alcove that kept the firearms. "Great, I'm glad the order of things hasn't been disturbed."

"I'm a prize," Andy said, spinning blithely. "Any vampire would be _glad_ to have me." Patrick stared at him; Joe stuck his head out of the arched doorway and stared at Andy. "What? It's the truth."

"Let's get this over with," Pete said, striding out of the kitchen where he had been drinking his awful brew. "Let me read that?"

Patrick turned the dusty book to Pete, who stumbled over the old English instructions: Bind of the Servant; Bind of the Brother; Bind of the Childe...and Pete paused over the Bind of the Lover. He stared at this one and then looked at Patrick, his demon muttering overprotectively. Patrick simply returned the fixed stare, waiting.

"Okay, Andy first," Pete declared and Andy looked smug. Pete took up the curved blade that Patrick had acquired from goodness-knows where. He made a slice right at the base of his wrist, pressing his mouth there to stop it from healing instantly. He held his hand out to Andy, who eyed the slowly dripping blood.

"It won't turn you, he has to bite you first for that," Patrick explained quietly. Andy nodded and stepped forward, taking Pete's hand to press his own mouth to the wound. Pete watched impassively, clinically noting the exact moment when the taint of his blood changed Andy's scent. Joe only did it after declaiming the huge _ew-fucking-gross_ factor of vampire rituals and he as well became a part of Pete's clan-type thing.

When Patrick stepped forward, however, Pete actually drew back from him and sucked on his wrist, not looking at Patrick as he closed off the wound. The confusion coming off Andy and Joe was palpable, but Pete paid close attention to Patrick, a dark curl of hurt pressing from him.

"It's not that," he tried to explain roughly. "Just...it's _not_."

He was out of the den and down the basement stairs before any of them could move.

*

Pete lay on the large sofa that stood near the strongbox he slept in during the daytime, listening to Patrick's faint breathing from the top of the stairs. He squeezed his eyes even tighter, knowing that Patrick was shifting from one foot to the other, a nervous action. He became still, and then took a huge bracing breath that whooshed against Pete's sensitive ears.

Patrick walked down the steps carefully and Pete turned his head, opening his eyes to watch him in the blessed dark. Vampires embraced the dark more readily than humans, not just because it hid them effectively; but also the dark was almost a living thing. Streams of energy flowed along the floors, ley-lines that bound the whole warehouse they had converted into their home into a centrally protected area. Pete missed the sunlight, but the dark had a slick dangerous attractiveness that called to the dim core of every vampire. The darkness was their blessing, their cradle...their true home.

He could see Patrick literally glow in a colour that had the delicacy of fine creamy satin, the shade deeper and stronger around his head, heart and along the intricate web work of his veins. Pete watched as the pulse in his neck throbbed invitingly; he tried to close his eyes again and failed.

"You can turn on the lights, if you want," he called gently and Patrick shook his head, knowing that Pete could see the action. He finally made his way to the bottom of the stairs and walked by sheer memory to where Pete sat. He held one hand out, searching and Pete sat up to take it, pulling him to sit down in the sofa. He didn't let go his hold on Patrick's fingers.

"Oh, there you are," Patrick whispered half-jokingly and squeezed Pete's hand. Pete inhaled a little deeper than usual, because Patrick was keeping a firm rein on his emotions, locking them down tightly. He sniffed suspiciously and gave Patrick's impassive face an incredulous look.

"You're mad at me," he said and went to release Patrick's hand and move away. Patrick held on firmly and pulled him back, looking blindly in his direction. Pete thought that if Patrick ever realized how beautiful he was, right this moment, at _every_ moment, he wouldn't want to hang around someone like Pete for too long.

"Oh, wouldn't you be? I'm not a part of your coven, Pete--"

"Blood-clan," Pete muttered.

"-- _whatever_ , but don't you want me protected?" Patrick strove to keep his voice mild, but Pete could literally see the thread of distress winding its way through Patrick's pale glow. Apparently, a sickly brown tinge signified that a heart was ready to break. "Don't...don't you want _me_ around?"

"Oh god, no, it's not that," Pete said hurriedly, but the muddy colour only intensified. "No, Patrick, please."

"I just don't understand." Patrick finally released Pete's hand and tucked both his palms under his thighs, leaning against the plush back of the sofa. "Sometimes, I wish you would explain things to me, instead of running off. It hurts more when I don't _know_."

Pete pursed his lips, watching the brown ripple on through what he had always described to the others as _something like their aura_.

"The thing about vampires is, they like to stir up shit," he started hesitantly. Patrick nodded slightly. "So the other dude last night, he tried to take you away from me. No, wait, you have to listen," he said as Patrick opened his mouth to speak. "He wanted to take you, I think, just because I wanted to claim you....and _yes_ , that was pretty difficult to say. Wow."

Patrick was staring over Pete's shoulder, not knowing where his eyes were to focus on. The murky shade had halted, receding, replaced by a light shade of red. Pretty.

"Wait," Patrick said in a tiny voice. "Not like a brother-bind."

Pete sighed.

"Oh, shit," Patrick said. He put his hand out and Pete caught it, feeling the lovely fingers flex in his grasp. "Pete, I'm not...you're seriously not saying you actually _want_ \--"

"Yeah."

Patrick smell changed to something almost completely different. Most times, he was uncertain and slightly unhappy for whatever reason Pete couldn't fathom, a sadness quite unrelated to Pete's turning. Right now, there was a flavour of amazed pleasure...and something even stronger.

He realized that it was _desire_ the moment Patrick leaned in to kiss him.

*

"Pete, the Lover's Bind, you have to--oh. Ok, _yes_ , right there," Patrick moaned, arching under Pete's searching mouth at his neck. "Oh, oh. _Shit_."

Pete snickered. He was discovering that Patrick was the type to dissolve into mindless babbling and it pleased him no end. He was careful to keep his fangs in until the right time, choosing to bestow languid kisses over the sweet curve of Patrick's cheekbone. Patrick's heart was beating so very fast; Pete could hear it throbbing against his bare chest and his brain, and he slipped his hands under Patrick's t-shirt, resting them on his chest to revel in the warmth.

He was settled in between Patrick's legs, more comfortable than he had ever been before. Patrick still couldn't see him, the basement a perfect cocoon of pitch-black, but he could see Patrick's light smile as placed a gentle kiss on his nose. He slid his hand along Patrick's arm, the one that was flung up over his head, threading their fingers together.

"Ready?"

Patrick swallowed and nodded. Without giving him any warning, Pete pulled that hand to him, the right hand. The book had said to first use the dominant hand. Pete turned the hand and bit into the life-line.

"The living for the dead," Patrick murmured and Pete's demon approved heartily.

He healed the wound and released the hand, rocking back on his heels to tug on Patrick's t-shirt. Patrick parted with it reluctantly and Pete smoothed rough hands over his chest.

"This is actually sort of sappy," he muttered and bit Patrick right above his heart. Patrick groaned so loudly he almost missed saying the next binding phrase.

"My heart for yours."

 _Mine_ , Pete thought. _Mine now for as long as I want, I don't care what anyone says, mineminemine_.

"Yours," Patrick whispered before he passed out cold.

*

Patrick came awake to a blaze of colour that hurt his eyes. He blinked and then raised his hands to look at the astounding glow.

"Can you see it?" Pete said in an awed whisper. He was on the other side of the basement, sitting with his back against the wall, strangely tucked in between damp pipes. Patrick could see a faint line of light blue mist around Pete's slim frame and he was so very confused, because they were still in the dark basement. "It's only supposed to be temporary, Patrick, but can you see it?"

"Yeah." Patrick turned his hands over and stared. It was amazingly beautiful; the book had stated that there would be an effect to make the loved human see as he was seen. Just a little lovely show at the start of a binding, never to be observed again, to hold close to one's heart. He couldn't believe this was himself. "Is...is this how the dark is for you?"

"All the time." Pete's voice held a thread of pride. "That's how you look to me, in the dark."

"Wow," Patrick mused. "I'm fucking _gorgeous_."

Pete's responding laugh was light as he got up, trudging to sit beside Patrick. Pete's glow, aura, whatever it was, was not as ethereal as Patrick's. Instead, it clung close to his body like a well-fitted cloak, shot through with whirlpools of navy. Everything suddenly started to fade, as if someone had a universal dimmer switch and the colours were gone, leaving Patrick again in an eternal night they tried to create for Pete in the basement.

"It's gone, I can't see them anymore....Pete?" He searched with a hand and felt it caught up in a cool, strong grip. He latched onto a strange wave of emotions that were not his own, taking up residence in the back of his mind: _Pete's_ emotions, mostly made up of a tenebrous possessiveness that was not so much frightening as it was reassuring. Hidden behind those was an uncertainty that Patrick understood completely as he crawled into Pete's lap, tucking his head under Pete's chin.

"I'm yours," he said in a low voice, keeping his eyes open against the dark.

**Author's Note:**

>  **AN2: Cruorem;** latin for 'blood', 'bloodline', 'lineage'.


End file.
